48 Hours

Welcome to Love Town. A new section within my life journey that is slightly different from my other posts. This section is purely devoted to the most important people in my life. They may have an active role in my life or they had a lasting impact and are no longer active; that’s for the reader to decide. I thought this was an important part of me to share because I have seen, loved, and experienced so much that not sharing would be hiding part of who I am. When I went on this journey, I told myself that real and raw is what I would stay true to.

One of the many traps and misconceptions that men fall into is that being a strong and masculine man means not showing emotion. Not allowing ourselves to use the other side of our brains (like women aren’t afraid to do) is being manly, but this inherently means hiding our heart. For many years, I fell into that trap and didn’t realize how damaging of a pattern that actually is. I would hide the fact that I am a super feeler and super aware of the energies around me, which is why I can not only see and understand you but also feel what you are feeling before you know you are feeling it. Ask someone…

In my earlier years, I allowed the work life that I live, leading, driving, CEO’ing, to interfere with my personal relationships because I was so busy treating the precious people in my life like business meetings, but I guess this is what they meant when they preached to us that we actually didn’t know what we were doing in our 20’s and sometimes 30’s. They were right.

You see the pictures, you read my posts, and I leave much to the imagination because opening up and showing you more of me is not always easy unless I trust you - so here goes everything.

To conserve the privacy of this individual, I have left names and pictures out, out of respect and because I was asked to. I am able to show this side of me and post these intimate stories because time has managed to do its magic and heal. So let's get back to opening myself up for you to continue to know who Alberto Marzan actually is.

If I had a son, I would encourage him to be a man, show emotions, and communicate clearly, which has only taken me 40 years to learn. In this, what at times seems like a crazy time we are living in, I choose to focus on what, down in my core, is most important to my survival. LOVE.

Sitting here patching myself up… Night number two without sleeping much thanks to you. Was it the fact that I walked into the apt too confident or was it that I over communicated compared to what you were used to? Or, was it that I called it “ChizWhick” and sounded out the “w” instead of keeping it silent? No, I know, it was that my poker face was missing in action and you got to see my heart.

I hate that the clothes I have on still smell like you. I hate that I opened up the way I did because I feel exposed. I hate that our plans have disintegrated into thin air. Maybe it was that you were too much like me in some ways? Maybe, it was that you were not strong enough to deal with her poison? You failed to see that I had chosen you instead of her. Maybe I fucked it up and you couldn’t recover from it. Whatever it was, I lose which makes me feel closer to God and the Universe.

It had been more than a month since we had seen each other. Then, after a weird week between us, where you were distant and coy, you had invited me to spend the weekend with you at your place in the suburbs. You know how I feel about that. I had never been there, but was as excited just like a school kid going on a monumental trip in the morning. After a two-hour Uber ride I had arrived. I buzzed you, and like everywhere in your country, you had me on camera so you could see me stumbling around trying to find your place all the while toting my large suitcase. I walked in and the feeling of deja vu consumed me. I found that weird because I had never been to your place physically, but I had been there over a thousand times in my head. As I looked around, I noticed the door was made from solid wood and the hardware was as expected, contemporary. The shoes were all arranged at the entryway and I asked if I should take mine off. You replied in your accent, “Yes, please” ( but I really only understand 80% because to me, it sounds like you had marbles in your mouth, especially when you added the letter “r” to words, which is different than how we pronounce the words in America). I knew what the answer was going to be, but I wanted to hear you say it. So, I took my shoes off to be respectful.

I noticed you had been cleaning your apt because the floors were so fucking shiny that I almost busted my ass on them, plus your floor steamer/mop was still out. I noticed the kitchen was contemporary and immaculate, even the water drops were wiped away in the sink which is the type of OCD I admire. It was like you had gone through a spring-cleaning at the end of a long European summer. We didn’t hug, we didn’t kiss, we didn’t touch at all. That was consistent with the last night we spent together before I left, which was awkward.

I noticed that the laundry was going, I asked where I should put my stuff and you walked me to your “Room and Board” styled bedroom. You helped me find a space for my suitcase in your room, so it would not be in our way later. As I glanced around, I noticed the throw pillows strategically arranged on your bed like it was straight out of a magazine. Your style was something I valued because I could tell you learned how to use it as a way to express yourself creatively and that spoke to me. An old-style Victorian bed with contemporary accents artfully placed around was a perfect juxtaposition of new and vibrant with old world traditional. I dug it. This was consistent with who you showed me you were, educated, intelligent and classy. Your LV’s on the floor were reminiscent of a working executive, which I understood. As I put my suitcase down, from the corner of my eye and without making any sudden movements, I could see you looking at me in your huge mirror, observing me, carefully. Finally, your poker face broke, relaxing my nerves a bit. I felt the tension in the air. This was also only visible to me, at least that is what it looked like from my height, but then again I was closer to the fan and you know what they say when shit hits the fan, whoever is closest to it, gets hit with it first. Since I was closer to that fan, I got hit with that shit first. I took the liberty of changing into something more comfortable because you were in your yoga pants, which made that phat ass look edible. I mean, they were hugging your hips, legs and arse perfectly, SMDH. From time to time, I would catch you and your baby blue eyes glancing over at me. Every once in a while, the conversation seemed semi-awkward, yet respectful and cordial. This was all new to us. After all that had happened between us. After running through this a thousand times before in our heads, we were finally together. Even though you weren’t trying to show me your emotions, the vibes were powerful. I was catching them, reading you and your anxiousness. It was like ventriloquists were pulling us together encouraging us to get out of our heads, to stop being too critical of what was going on and to not worry about making mistakes. Little did I know that it would happen again...

We sat down on your couch to catch a little TV, hoping to break the mood. I noticed the couch had girlie written all over it with feminine throw pillows and soft fabrics. It was clean and intentionally positioned. You were paying very close attention to my comfort level, frequently asking, “Can you see the TV okay.” I repeatedly replied, “Yes, yes I can, thank you.” After a while, you creatively changed it up to, “Why don’t you sit here where you can see better?” Even through dinner you asked me this several times. I said no every time because I, like you, wanted to sacrifice my viewing angle so you could have the best one.

I noticed you had gone grocery shopping before I arrived. You wanted to make sure I was comfortable while I was with you. That caring and considerate person I met in front of the store would sneak out from time to time. It was unnatural for you to try to restrain her and to be the way you were being while I was with you. I noticed you started to warm up and not be so cold and distant after I asked if you wanted a foot rub. You slowly raised your baby blues to look at me, as if to say, “Are you for real?” You nodded with the innocent look that had hooked me from the get go. Those darling dimples on the sides of your cheeks are so damn perfect that they could hold water. They fit your face totally and completely. I was surprised you said yes to the foot rub. I think my tone of voice and certainty hooked you from the jump when I said, “Okay, go get some lotion so I can massage them.” You jumped off the couch like you were late going somewhere and came back with the lotion and eucalyptus oil in hand. The certainty and direction in my commands you were drawn to, but in full transparency it was my fall back approach since I am really good at giving instruction and direction in a respectful and calming way. My emotional control comforted you. I asked for your small feet. You laid back on the couch and I could see my nervousness had now transferred over to you. I could still feel your thoughts, anxiety and newly minted excitement. The look on your face and your eye movement told me that you seemed to be asking and questioning the viability of your toes, “Are my toes done okay? Are my feet okay? When was the last time I had a pedi”? Then, it was as if you said, “Okay, fuck it!” and placed them on my lap. We were both waiting to judge our intimacy potential based on this test foot rub. I now had you in a position where you needed to let go, at least a little. Your toes were little and done perfectly. I put lotion on my hands and dripped three drops of oil on them and went to town. Like a surgeon, I started chipping away at those kevlar reinforced walls. Your anxiousness started to disappear. On your left foot, it was the left side of your arch, and on your right foot, it was your heel. I found the sensitive areas, the pressure points, and the sore spots. I was enjoying it ... just as much as you were. Your eyes would get huge when I attacked those sensitive areas. I looked deep into them and watched you watching me. Two super computers crunching vibes and emotional equations while looking at each other, we exchanged glances and smiles. With your tiny feet in my hands, I feel like a bigger man than I already am. It was as if we had changed places for once, but the feeling was still the same.

Without sounding pompous, I pulled out one of my best foot rubs ever. Afterward, you asked where I learned how to do that in a surprised and unguarded, soft voice. I discreetly answered in my head, “You have no idea how much more I would love to do to you and for you?” Obviously, I didn’t say that, but you felt me just like I was feeling you. Maybe my intense eyes gave it all away. You could not see that you had me in a place that very few had taken me to. You knew you had me, but failed to use it to your/our advantage. A couple of hours past, the conversation got more personal and real. I continued to chisel away at the walls. Those walls did not stand a chance.

“Do you want dinner now,” you asked as it was close to 6 pm. I said, “Yes, but can I help?” You quickly and confidently said, “No. Just sit down and relax.”

Thank you for making me feel like a man while you felt like a woman. The thing that makes this hard AF is that in the beginning, and on paper, we aligned very tightly. I know we share traditional relationship roles, among other things, and I loved that about you. You allowed me to flourish in my manly state, which was super sexy to me. I know you felt my eyes following you around the kitchen. I couldn’t take them off you in your perfectly stretched yoga pants. I mean “thank you Lord” for inventing the technology so they hug your curves so beautifully. Like I’ve told you, “It’s the new lingerie.” You were showing me who you wanted us to be, who you wanted to be for me and my deja vu came flooding back. Again, this was something that I had lived many times in my head. It took sometime for me to finally relax because all I was thinking about was how perfect this was turning out to be.

Dinner, drinks, laughs, and after a successful kitchen (messy), we AfroLife’ed and began to chill. Smart of you because by this time the intense full body chemistry we shared was starting to direct our minds and hormones. I have to admit, I spent more time on your heels with the hope that we would end up there (look it up and you’re welcome guys). You left for a while into the restroom which I thought was normal but realized it was taking a little longer.. So, I decided to check on you. You said, “All good.” I went back to the couch, but not long after, you came back and said,“Surprise!” It was literally like you changed in the phone booth like superwoman and came to rescue me.

You came back completely transformed and just when I thought I was driving you took the wheel and I found myself riding shotgun. Again, I was thanking baby Jesus. You managed to surprise me (which rarely happens) and I will never forget the look on your face because it reminded me of myself. We worked off that dinner during the next few hours.

Amazing right, but what we didn’t realize that half of the 48 hours had already expired. Tick tock…

It only took 48 hours for my world to change from making plans to where we are today. It’s like when you rip off a Band-Aid on a fresh, raw scab. So, now I find myself sitting here patching myself up. Ouch!

I started these blog posts as a way to get real and raw about my journey and life with whoever wanted to read it. Shortly after I started revealing the intimate corners of my life, I realized the therapeutic journey that I was actually on. It includes finding and falling, wins and losses, and recuperation which is what I am searching for with this post. Yes, it is hard, and even though I was not the one who fucked it up, it doesn’t feel any better to blame you. At the end of the day, we both lose. I’m patching myself up, but this feels like a fracture in my bones. I know you are sorry, but I know who I am. I treated your heart like it was my own. Maybe, I just needed to learn my lesson from someone like me.

48 hours.